


Trying to Earn It

by littlestdeath



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bestiality, Breathplay, Breeding, Dehumanization, Dom/sub Undertones, Humiliation, M/M, Other, Ownership, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 15:57:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7228999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlestdeath/pseuds/littlestdeath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His knees ground into the hard tile floor and his palms ached where they held his weight. Soon, soon, soon. Behind him, down the hall, Stiles heard the excited barking of the dogs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trying to Earn It

**Author's Note:**

> Very different from my other works and, really, much more kinky.
> 
> Enjoy ;)

Stiles approached the office from the back. His Jeep was parked seven streets away. He used the walk to clear his mind of doubt. He’d done this before. He didn’t want to stop, not really. He let anticipation replace the doubt, let a heat fill in his belly.

He got to the back door. He knocked. Deaton held it open so he could enter. As soon as he was inside and the door was closed, Stiles stripped. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have that right. The back most room of the office where he had entered was a cleaning room, tiled along all the walls and the inclined floors, a large circle grate in the middle to catch and wash away the water.

Stiles placed his back to one wall and waited for inspection.

“Good bitch,” Deaton praised. Stiles shivered. Deaton came up to Stiles and ran a hand over his chest and down to his balls, cupping them clinically. “An especially smooth job today,” he said, running his hand over the hairless areas a few times to make sure all the stray pieces had been caught. If Stiles missed a patch Deaton would shave him with the same clippers he used to remove an animal’s fur for surgery. It always left razor-burn in its wake. Stiles whimpered as Deaton tugged on his balls.

“Is the bitch getting excited?” he asked, not sounding curious at all. Stiles’ breath shuddered. He was. But no one could tell, not with the cage that kept his cock from getting hard in place. Deaton tugged on it and Stiles had to keep himself from reaching down to push his hand away. He was sore. His balls were full and Deaton hadn’t given him permission to come yet. Not for three weeks. Stiles didn’t know if he would ever get permission. But he had to be good anyway. So he didn’t pull away from the tugging and fondling even though he was sore.

“Face the wall.” Stiles turned obediently. Deaton ran a hand over his ass and thighs, both perfectly smooth. Stiles had given himself plenty of time to get this right. Without warning Deaton slapped the plug that was in his hole. Stiles cried out and had to lift his hands to support himself against the chilled tile of the wall. Deaton pulled the plug out part away and circled it. Stiles keened, but didn’t move his hips. Good bitches took what was given to them.

“Open and slick, good color, not too much puffiness.” Deaton said, sounding for all the world like he was reading off a report. Stiles knew he was already hard in his slacks. But Deaton would decide when it was time for that. When he would use Stiles to get off.

“The bitch prepared his hole very well today.” Stiles arched his back in pleasure at the praise. It earned him a sharp swat on his rear.

“No moving.” Deaton reminded him. Stiles went still. Deaton pulled the plug out and set it somewhere out of Stiles’ sight. Stiles’ ass clenched around the emptiness for only a moment before Deaton inserted another object into his wet heat. Stiles knew what it was. A custom piece. A hollow tube, lined with holes all down its length and with slight tapering at one end to allow it to smoothly enter his ass. A wide lip at the other kept it from vanishing inside his greedy hole. The tube held his passage wide open. Deaton made sure it was set and then he moved off. Stiles braced himself.

The hose once to belong to the fire department. It had failed inspection and thus no longer was good for a fire truck, but it was good enough to help clean animal cages and wash their filth away. It was a good enough to make sure Stiles was clean. Deaton had attached it to a portable impeller water pump. When he turned it on, Stiles was blasted. The water stung and turned his skin red. The pressure was enough that it forced him flat to the wall.

Deaton raked him from top to bottom, that stinging pressure making Stiles’ skin sing. It was good, it was so good. He was just a bitched getting cleaned off. His place was to hold still and let Deaton clean him. Then the hose hit the tube in this ass and water ran up it. He yelped and then keened. It was good, so good, he was getting cleaned inside and out, all his dirty bitch-filth getting washed away. Deaton flushed him out until he ran clean then curtly commanded the bitch to turn around.

With his back to the wall, Deaton hosed down his front, taking particular care with his cock in the cage, making sure the pressure got under the bands of metal wrapped around it so he was clean all over. The nearly sobbed at the borderline painful sensation.

“Almost done,” Deaton said, turning off the hose for a moment. Stiles blinked. This was new. Deaton had never done this before. “Come on, bitch. Piss yourself.”

Stiles chest heaved, his breath suddenly heavy and gasping. His bladder instinctively clenched.

“No,” Deaton said calmly, watching him with that cool eyes. “So long as we are here you will no longer have bathroom privileges; bitches don’t need toilets. The only time you get to piss is when I say you can or when you can’t hold it anymore. So decide. Piss now, all over yourself. Or later when the piss will be fucked out of you.”

Stiles pissed. He pissed all down his thighs, eyes rolling and chest heaving with sobs, face impossibly red. It was humiliating; the sensation of the warmth tickling down his legs and pooling just a little at his feet before running toward the grate. He choked. God, He’d just pissed himself. He just _pissed_ himself.

“Good bitch,” Deaton praised and turned the water back on to hose it all down. “Don’t worry, pet. You’ll resist at first, but then you’ll come to see that, like always, I know what’s best for you. And you’ll learn to obey me when I tell you to piss.”

Stiles shook, trying to keep from crying anymore. He knew Deaton would get him there, knew he would start pissing himself on command if that’s was Deaton wanted. The part of him that loved the humiliation couldn’t wait.

When Deaton turned off the hose for good. Stiles sank to his hands and knees. The shivers were only partially from the cold water. Mostly they were anticipation. Deaton lead Stiles to the other side of the room, away from the wet. In the corner was the bench. The one that Deaton kept for his bitches.

Deaton had told Stiles about them once, all the bitches that had come before him. Deaton had said that he thought Stiles was going to last the longest, told him how happy he was that Stiles was strong enough to take everything Deaton gave to him, that he was such a good bitch for him. It made Stiles warm inside, made him want to try harder for Deaton, try harder and take more. Made him want to take everything no matter how hard, or painful or humiliating.

Deaton strapped him to the small bench that was bolted to the floor. It was a simple thing, just big enough to fit under his hips to provide support. The straps went around his waist and then one each around his legs, cinched tight just at the place where his thighs met his ass. It kept him from getting away. He would never try, but that fact that he couldn’t set Stiles’ heart racing.

Deaton pulled the hollow tube out, making Stiles groan. A fat syringe filled with lube took its place and Deaton filled him with slick until he was dripping with it. He didn’t check if Stiles was loose enough. Bitches were always loose, and ready for a good breeding.

Stiles whined.

“Eager bitch,” Deaton said warmly and left the room for just a moment, going back into the animal keep area. Stiles panted. His knees ground into the hard tile floor and his palms ached where they held his weight. Soon, soon, soon. Behind him, down the hall, Stiles heard the excited barking of the dogs. Stiles barked back like a good bitch, letting his studs know he was ready, that he wanted them like the horny bitch-slut he was. Deaton had already trained that into him.

There was the sound of nails on linoleum, then on tile and then Stiles was under one hundred pounds of eager, aroused dog. There was no waiting, no build up, no teasing. The dog sniffed him briefly, lined up and mounted him. Stiles screamed in pleasure as the huge dog cock split him open and then started going.

There was no consideration in the animal. Stiles was a bitch, his bitch. A hole to be fucked and bred. His pleasure didn’t matter, it’s why he wore the cock cage; if he didn’t enjoy it didn’t matter. If he did enjoy it, he was just a bitch. He didn’t even deserve to get hard, much less come. All that mattered was pleasing his stud. Was pleasing Deaton.

So Stiles held his back straight and head up, posture perfect for his stud to mount, form pleasing to Deaton’s eye. Cries and moans and yips and barks fell from his lips, encouraging the breeding. The dog that mounted him jabbed into him with hard, quick stokes, mindless of anything but his own pleasure and desire to breed the bitch held down for the purpose of his use.

Stiles’ dick was drooling. The stimulation of the dog pounding his hole was as good as prostate milking; his balls were emptying. Maybe Deaton wouldn’t even need to take care of him after this. Maybe his balls would empty themselves and the cage would just stay on until the next time. Stiles’ eyes rolled up. So good. It was so good.

The fast fucks of his stud were slowing now, becoming jerky. There was a pressure building in Stiles’ hole. Stiles spread his legs further and arched his back, presenting. He was going to be knotted. Stiles felt warm emotion in his chest, and tears ran down his cheeks. His stud found him worthy of knotting.

Not every dog knotted him, some just fucked him for a while and then hopped off, too dissatisfied with the bitch to even orgasm. Stiles always wept and tried to apologize, but Deaton was implacable. Stiles always spent the night alone locked in a portable kennel Deaton brought to the back cleaning room. He slept curled up on the cold, hard surface. He cried himself to sleep, miserable that he hadn’t been the good bitch that Deaton wanted.

But this dog was going to knot him. Stiles yapped his excitement. One, two, three, thrusts and the dog snapped his hips hard, shoving his knot past the tight ring of Stiles’ hole and the knot caught. The dog ground his hips as he orgasmed, driving the knot against Stiles’ prostate.

Stiles orgasmed dry. His cock twitching and drooling, but no actual ejaculation occurred. He keened high, body twitching and shivering with the force of his pleasure. His stud sniffed at his neck, licked him and then swung one leg up and over to stand ass to ass with Stiles, done with the bitch now and just waiting for his knot to deflate to the point that he could pull out.

Deaton’s hand smoothed down his back. Stiles became aware of his voice in his ear, praising him and telling him what a good bitch he was being, how proud he was of Stiles. Stiles remained in a slightly delirious state until just before the dog slipped out of him and trotted out of the room.

“Good. Very good,” Deaton pressed his fingers to Stiles sore ass. The puffy muscles of his hole clenched in response, trying to pull his fingers in; Stiles had such a greedy hole. “You get four more studs,” Deaton promised, and Stiles keened in pleasure.

By the time all four had come and gone. Stiles was a wreck. His ass was gaping open, his balls were empty of come, and he had dry orgasmed six more times. His hands couldn’t hold the weight anymore and so he had collapsed down to his shoulders, mouth open and drooling. Each dog had felt bigger than the last and each had mounted and knotted him with enthusiasm and speed. Stiles was floating in that place where everything was soft and good, even the pain. Five dogs had knotted him, five dogs had found his stretched, filthy cunt worthy to fill up with their seed.

Deaton’s hand soothed his backside. Something pressed at Stiles’ passaged. He whimpered, but his muscles were too lax to prevent the plug he had worn there from slipping home, keeping all that doggy come inside him. Stiles twitched, he knew he wasn’t done yet. With effort, he got back up to his hands. Deaton unstrapped him from the bench and Stiles turned around clumsily. Deaton was already pulling his cock from his pants.

He grabbed Stiles by the back of his head and slammed forward into his mouth. Stiles kept his throat relaxed as Deaton thrust into it, chasing his orgasm with no regard for Stiles. He could barely breath, Deaton wasn’t leaving much in the way of gaps for him to get his breath back. Stiles face turned ruddy red and the purple. He didn’t stop Deaton. It wasn’t his place. If Deaton wanted to choke his bitch on his cock that was his right. Stiles was his.

Deaton thrust all the way back and came down Stiles’ throat with a grunt. Stiles drank it down, flexing his throat to milk the orgasm out of Deaton and please him further. Deaton held himself deep in Stiles’ throat until his vision was swimming with grey dots. Only then did he let Stiles go. The boy collapsed, coughing and breathing roughly in huge gasps.

“Master,” he panted, speaking for the first time that night, “Have I earned it yet?”

“No, bitch. You haven’t.” Deaton spoke kindly. Stiles whimpered and curled up on the ground, clutching at Deaton’s ankle. Deaton crouched carefully and stroked his heaving flank.

“One day you’ll earn that collar. When you’re a real bitch I’ll put it around your neck and you’ll never have to take it off again. You’ll always be mine and everyone will know it.”

Deaton thought of the spell book locked up in his office. The one that would give Stiles a womb and let his studs breed him for real. Once Stiles was there, once he was in deep enough to let Deaton control even that, change his very body to allow him to carry puppies, only then would Stiles really be Deaton’s bitch. And then he’d keep the boy where he belonged; on his knees, ass up in Deaton’s backroom where all the studs that get brought in before neutering can have their fill and breed his good bitch. Where Deaton can use him at his leisure as was his right as Stiles owner.

The collar Stiles wanted to earn, after all, had a name tag with ‘Bitch’ on one side and ‘Property of Alan Deaton’ on the other.

Deaton could hardly wait for Stiles to reach that point. The point where he would beg for the breeding to be real. His cock twitched. Easily, Deaton settled on the floor opened his pants further and pulled Stiles’ head to his crotched commanding him to suck. The good little bitch did it without hesitation.

Deaton had a feeling Stiles would earn that collar very soon.


End file.
